


equilibrium.

by peppermintcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2128443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintcas/pseuds/peppermintcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers a beach before the concept of time was conceived, before humans took the length of a day and shackled it to the confines of hours and minutes and seconds, dicing years into months, months into weeks. He remembers the moon dancing from between clouds, muted flashes of gold illuminating billows of gray, waves hurling themselves onto the rocks onshore. But he remembers one thing in particular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	equilibrium.

Castiel is at a beach.

He is waiting, as one does for something that they are not sure will happen, watching the rain lash the tumultuous waves. Emotion- the sensation of boredom and weariness- is unfamiliar to Castiel. It is only to be found later, in the minds of lesser beings, in the headspace of those angels look down upon. But he does feel something- a pit somewhere within him, weighing him down, a restlessness that sears his wings and makes his hands (if they can be called hands) twitch with something he doesn’t understand.

Even then, Castiel thinks, he knew.

\--

He remembers a beach before the concept of time was conceived, before humans took the length of a day and shackled it to the confines of hours and minutes and seconds, dicing years into months, months into weeks. He remembers the moon dancing from between clouds, muted flashes of gold illuminating billows of gray, waves hurling themselves onto the rocks onshore. But he remembers one thing in particular.

(He is watching water shape to the pull of gravity and wind, the ocean roaring at the dark night- and he notices, while waiting for something even he doesn’t know, between the crashing of the waves, the hiss of sea foam on black obsidian sand- something. He notices something. An equilibrium. When the waves bear down on the sand with a crash louder than its usual, the water flattens out over the rocky sand, smooths out any imperfections left since the last wave, fill in hollows and bury scuttling little crabs, frantically trying to escape from the shore. Then it withdraws as a fresh torrent crests over. And that is what Castiel notices- the ocean, for all its fury and wrath, is countered by itself. The sea will drown, will bury, will seethe and rage and storm, but when the wave retreats back into itself, when a new wave comes to sweep the lines in the sand away, it is pulled back by the other. They curl around each other, crash through each other, and then both are rushed away by the inevitability of time- but for a moment, the ocean is fighting against nothing but itself.)

Castiel feels like that most of the time now.

\--

He is wandering in the city.

New York, he is told, by the huge billboards and glowing lights, advertising perfumes and movies and clothes. He puts his head down and hunches his shoulders and walks quickly, like he has somewhere to be, where really he has nowhere to go at all. Home. He used to define the word by a literal place- the Novaks’ residence. Bobby’s house. The bunker. Now, he thinks, it was never about the building. It was about the people within it.

He stares down at his shuffling shoes, just another pair of scuffy sneakers and slightly frayed jeans, wandering in a city of people who know where to go.

\--

Castiel walks and walks and walks and is surprised at the anonymity of the city.

The people of New York barely glance at him, don’t even notice him, except maybe to shy away just slightly from him. He is just another human. Just another man. One of them. He feels lost among the crush of people, navigated only by the direction of the sun and the surge of the crowd. You would not believe who I was, he thinks, on the rare occasions he looks up, heart pounding, picking out red hair, blue eyes, thick eyelashes laid over freckled cheeks. A striped tie. A red cord trailing from someone’s phone, linked to the black earbuds tucked in their ears. His gaze jumps from person to person as he thinks, you would not have believed. And here I am.

Here I am.

He barely looks up after that, scared of seeing a familiar face, perhaps an accusing one. Maybe he doesn’t want to be noticed- he doesn’t, not with fallen angels everywhere, not with Metatron the only one in heaven- but he used to be able to walk with his head held high, an assured direction to his steps, a sense of belonging. Now he knows nothing.

\--

It rains.

It is a dismal day. People hurry along with damp briefcases and hair wet with droplets, shove and elbow, and Castiel finally has to hotwire a car and escape the wet, claustrophobic swell of humans. They surge, back and forth, wearing cracks into the sidewalk, jostling and fighting.

It reminds him in a way of that beach, eons ago.

\--

He has no idea how to hotwire a car- Dean showed him, once, but he forgot so soon after- but his hands seem to follow their own direction, sparking the two cords, sliding behind the wheel and taking it into his hands. He doesn’t know why he picked this car. It’s beige colored, and smells faintly of beer.

He navigates outwards, south, east, west. Out of the press of jostling people. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t understand this, the sudden need to be away, to be out and breathing fresh air. He knows it’s claustrophobia. He doesn’t know why he suddenly has it. 

He takes a deep breath and drives.

\--

The road is slow and long and open, sometimes filled with other cars, sometimes drained of all people, leaving Castiel to gun the engine, chasing yellow dotted lines. He passes a field of sunflowers and stops, suddenly, without reason- he just knows these yellow flowers speak to him, in a way. They are turned towards the watery sun, hovering just behind a layer of mist. Castiel sinks to his knees and breathes in golden petals, green stems, velvety leaves.

He scoops a handful of petals off the ground and deposits them in the passenger seat.

\--

Castiel finds his way to the Atlantic Ocean.

He knows he’s further away from the Winchesters, from everything he’s known, than ever before, but as he stands on the coastline, sand whipping around his ankles, waves crashing at his feet, he feels at peace.

\--

Castiel is at a beach, and he is waiting, and he doesn’t know what for.

But he feels- his hands twitch, his eyes blink against the wind, there is a swooping in his gut when a wave thunders beneath his feet- and he thinks, maybe, he has found his own equilibrium.


End file.
